memories of forever
by Tibby Rose
Summary: You should be here. You should be lying her next to me, holding me in your arms. But you're not. You're gone, and it hurts. It hurts more than anything.


**a/n: because leading tragic glee fics always leads to dair. the quote (?) at the end about it steadying out is from the fic 'oh please don't go' by the lovely jackiekennedy. if you ship quinn/puck, read it. otherwise, enjoy.**

You should be here. You should be lying her next to me, holding me in your arms. But you're not. You're gone, and it hurts. It hurts more than anything.

I remember a conversation we had, exactly a month before we got married. We were discussing whether or not I should take your name-you had told me you didn't really mind, but I could tell you were lying. You were always like that-caring for me more than you cared for yourself. When I think about it, I remember that that look in your eyes made up my mind for me. It wasn't as if you had planned it of course. You weren't like _him_, you weren't like manipulative, and you cared for me. Before that conversation, I had been considering keeping my name. A part of me was still the immature girl from high school, and no matter how much I loved you, I didn't want to take your last name. But that look, among other things-the way you held me at night, the way you told me you loved me, the way you would kiss me and tell me everything would be alright. I believed you, because at that point in time, when I was in your arms, I believed it. So I took your name, because I believed your promises of forever. Maybe that was another part of my immature high school self. I still believed in things like that.

I don't anymore, because I can't picture forever without you. You were my forever, my future-we were supposed to have children together, remember? I remember telling you I wanted a little girl that I would name Audrey or Holly or Emily or Sabrina. She would look like me, and maybe even act like me, but underneath it all she'd have your good heart. She'd dote on you, and you'd spin her around and tell her she's a princess. She'd be a daddy's girl. I also wanted a son. One you would probably name something ridiculous like Cedric, one that would be exactly like you. Quiet and well meaning, a good brother to his sister, an excellent friend. A boy who would find the woman he loved and make her feel like she was he was his everything. And to him, she would be. Maybe he would've ended up with Serena's daughter, and our little girl wouldn't approve at first because she didn't want her brother and her best friend to go out together. She would believe that it made her the third wheel, and she didn't want that. But she'd accept it eventually, and she'd be happy for them. That was what was supposed to happen. We would live in a penthouse, but occasionally, we'd go out to the Loft. And one day, a party would be thrown there, and even though you should've been angry at our daughter, you wouldn't be able to. And I was supposed to be the bad cop, but even though I'd feel horrible about it later, you would've held me in your arms and tell me that if you weren't such a sap, I wouldn't have to be the bad cop. And I would've kissed you to shut you up, because I've long since learnt it was the only way. That was what was supposed to happen.

But then you left me. I remember that night-I don't want to, but it's forever imprinted in my mind. I remember I had attempted to cook in hopes it would make your week better, you had told me that it had been a hard one. I was wearing a new dress, and I had called Nate to tell him you wouldn't be able to watch the football with him tonight. I remember him laughing as he realized what I was doing, and him telling me that it was okay, it had been a long time since he and Jenny had gone out anyway. I remember hearing the knock the second I hung up the phone, and I immediately knew something was wrong. You never knocked on the door-nobody did, everyone had a key. I had tried to reassure myself everything was alright, that it was just a delivery or something. I remember the feeling I had, which had grown worse when I opened the door to find two policemen standing there. I remember clutching the other half of the doorframe and denying it when they told me there had been an accident. I remember them telling me that they were sorry, and I remember that I had began to slide to the ground. The worst part is the one I remember the best-when the policemen had told me that you had died on the scene, and I remember that I had began to cry. I remember them repeating their apologies, and I remember the feeling that overwhelmed me. I felt as if a part of me had been ripped out, I remember feeling as if I could never be happy again. I remember feeling sick but not being able to do anything about it, and I remember feeling the cold, raw pain as I realized that you were gone. You were gone and you weren't coming back.

And everything after that was blur. I remember nothing of the following twenty four hours, and things only became clearer, three in the morning, just over a day since you had left me. I hadn't been able to sleep-I clutched your pillow and wore one of your stupid plaid shirts in hopes that the scent of you would help me sleep. But if anything, it made things worse. It reminded me that you were gone, that you weren't just staying late at work. But I needed the scent of you, and those items were my only option. I hadn't been able to do anything since it happened-under the shirt, I was still in the new dress. The wine was on the counter, warm next to the stale food. It had began to smell, but I hadn't noticed. The candles had died out, but everything else was exactly the way it had been before. I couldn't bring myself to fix it.

I remember hearing the loft door opening, hearing footsteps echo across the floor. I didn't care who it was-if it was an intruder, they could take everything they wanted, they could trash the house. I didn't care. Even when the door to the bedroom opened, I didn't care. When I felt someone lie down beside me, I had thought, that maybe, somehow, it was you. But then I realized that the arms that had wrapped around me were too feminine, and the hair tickling me was too long. A part of me hated Serena at that moment, but she comforted me, and for a moment, I felt the tiniest bit better.

I remember turning to face her, and she didn't look her best. She was still beautiful- it _was_ Serena-but her eyes were red and her hair was mussed and her smile was missing from her face. I had realized that if Serena didn't look perfect, I must look even worse. She had pushed away my hair, holding me close and even though we had done it thousands of times before, comforted each other when no else would, it felt strange. You had been the one to comfort me for the past five years, Serena only stepping in when I needed comfort due to a fight. A fight would be better than this. Serena had pressed a kiss to my forehead and told me it would get better, that I would get better. I hadn't believed her-I don't believe her- and I don't think she does either.

She did it for the first few nights without you. Nate would call us, his voice sounding strange without its usual cheeriness. He wants to be here, I think, but Jenny's a mess. Two days ago, when Serena thought I was asleep, I heard her telling Nate over the phone that I was twice as bad. I would've yelled at her, but I couldn't bring myself to try. I wanted to be angry at her, wanted to hate her, but she had been trying to help me-making me eat, getting me to sleep and holding me when I cried. Despite everything, she was still my best friend.

She's not here tonight though. I told her I would be fine, and she didn't believe me at first. She had argued, attempted to held her ground, but at times, Serena isn't very bright. She's gullible and wants to believe people, so it didn't take long to convince her I would be alright. It's a lie though. I'm back where I was before-your pillow in my arms, your shirt on my body. I'm staring at the funeral dress, the one that's hanging on the closet. They're burying you tomorrow, and I feel as if I'm going to be sick. Maybe it is today. I don't pay attention to time anymore, it just reminds me that every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month and every year I would have to get through without you from now on. And I really don't need to be reminded of that. It's a nice dress, I suppose. Silk, with a knee length skirt, but the sight of it makes me think. If you were here, you would comment about how ironic it was. But then again, if you were here, the dress wouldn't be.

I don't know what I'm doing. I've never prayed before, never been to Church in that sense. But maybe it's worth a shot. I'm don't even know if I am praying, or whether I'm attempting to talk to you again with no luck. Maybe if I had a sign, as stupid as that sounds, I'd believe in God. And I'd feel better, because I'd know you were in good hands. You'd be in heaven, and that would reassured me.

But as of now, I'm not sure. I don't know anything anymore, except for the fact you're no longer here. Shivering, I shifted my gaze, hoping that if I don't look at the dress, I won't be reminded of you. I could move it, but I can't bring myself to get up. To walk around our room in pitch back, without knowing that you'll be lying there when I crawl back in bed. Without knowing that a pair or arms will wrap around me, that a pair of soft lips will give me a small kiss, that a chest would be there for me to lie my head on.

Maybe if I had done that-moved the dress-things would be better. Our wedding photo makes everything worse, not better. The sight of us, me in my snow white dress made by mother, you in a tux I picked out for you. We're looking at each other, smiling brightly and you looking at me in that way you did. And it makes me jealous of our past selves, as stupid as it is. How can you be jealous of your past self? You would know. Your writer brain would figure it out.

Do you remember our wedding day? It was beautiful, the most amazing day of my life. I remember it perfectly. For a moment, I had cold feet. For a moment, I thought that you would always love Serena more than you loved me. But then I got the voicemail. Your voicemail. The one where you rambled about how you knew that this was kind of against the rules, but you didn't care because you loved me so much. That you wanted to let me know that you always will love me. And at that moment I realized that you did love me more than Serena, and that meant everything to me.

Our wedding itself was perfect. We'd had it in Central Park, and it rained at the end. That's supposed to be a good sign, and at that moment, I thought it was. Nate was the best man; Serena was my maid of honour. We had written our own vows, and both of us had cried in the end. Our first kiss as husband and wife-I'd kissed you thousands of times before, but that one was without a doubt, the best kiss I'd ever had. Our first dance was perfect, despite the fact we kept laughing. It was the most perfect night. We invited nearly everyone we knew, and debated for hours whether or not to invite Chuck and Vanessa. In the end, we decided against both of them. Vanessa's wasn't a part of your life then, and even though Chuck was happy with Eva, I knew he couldn't go through with it.

He hates himself for it, you know. He blames himself for what happened. It wasn't his fault, Dan, you have to understand that. His driver took a wrong turn, and you were unlucky. But he blames himself for it, and he always will. If you were someone else, that might've made you feel better. But even though you hated him, you wouldn't have wanted him to suffer. You were that type of person, and even now I wonder how I got so lucky. Especially considering the way I acted towards you in high school.

I never hated you, you know. It might have appeared that way-I acted so cold towards you, but truthfully, it's because you saw through me. That day, in the hallway after my fight with Serena-you saw through my bitchy mask, and I was scared that you would use that against me. You would never have done that though. Another part of me saw you as a competitor. Yale was my dream, and I thought that you would take that from me. In the end, it was my own stupidity that did that, but I still held it against you for a long time.

Maybe if I hadn't been so cruel to you, things would be different. Maybe you would be here next to me, holding me in your arms and telling me you loved me.

But it doesn't work like that. I know that, but I can't help thinking that I could have done something to prevent it. There's nothing I can do though, and you're gone. You're gone Dan, and I need you.

Do you think it stops hurting? Do you think it'll get better? I remember I read once that it doesn't get better, that you'll never get used to it, it'll just steady out. I think that's what's going to happen. You were the only one who would've understood it. But you're not here.

And I hate every second of it. I miss you so much, Dan.

I love you.

**fin.**


End file.
